


Masquerade

by victorianvirgil



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Prince! Roman, Prinxiety - Freeform, Roman Sanders - Freeform, Servant! Virgil, Virgil Sanders - Freeform, and kissing, but it doesn’t go into detail don’t worry, roman - Freeform, that’s a fic for another day kiddos, there’s some fluff though, they think about fucking all the time, virgil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: Despite knowing it is a childish wish, Prince Roman wants nothing more than to run off hand in hand with the man he loves, to lower the mask he wears for all but Virgil to see and push on his unwanted title of heir to one of his sisters. Instead, he plans on making every last moment with his lover account, even with ladies courting him during the infamous, yearly masquerade ball.





	Masquerade

Flecks of golden light trickled in through the gossamer curtains, slipping between the gaps in the tightly-stitched seams and brushing against sun-kissed skin. There, a body was snarled in sunshine sheets, having tangled itself in the glittering web while unconscious.

It shifted, exhausted and begging for sleep as it desperately rolled onto its side to avoid the smiles from heaven attempting to arouse it further. From sleep, of course.

But its efforts were in vain as the door was carelessly thrust open. The calloused hands of a servant parted the curtains, welcoming the morning glow and the body knew that it would be forced to start its day with only a few hours of inadequate rest under its belt.

A groan escaped a pair of glistening lips, eyelids forced to flutter open to reveal gentle irises of honey. Hair, the exact shade of a certain lover’s favorite whiskey, was knotted and tossed every which way as lean fingers attempted to rectify the locks.

A pair of tawny eyes settled on the servant, a small male cloaked in silk threaded with strands of silver, a snide smirk etched across his lips. The familiar, honeysuckle voice of the prince’s most trusted friend flooded the room with a simple greeting. “Good morning, Highness.”

There was nothing beautiful about sarcasm before the sun reigned at its highest, the prince launching a pillow in the general direction of his servant in response.

The servant caught the pillow, smirk growing as he placed it by his prince’s side. He then glanced to the open door, confirming that the hallway was still vacant, before letting a hand slide over the curves and valleys of his prince’s strong, strong shoulders. Greedily, if the prince wasn’t mistaken.

Involuntarily, he rolled away from the touch with a groan in protest. The servant laughed, the mellifluous sound echoing through the prince’s mind as he slowly lifted himself onto an elbow and struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Is a prince forbidden to ever sleep in, even for just a few moments longer?” he croaked, voice sore from the lack of use.

The servant’s devious smile remained as he snickered. “And you did, prince. I allowed you nearly half an hour longer. My gift to you.”

“Yet I still feel as though my eyes were open through the entirety of the night. Your theories, Virgil?”

Virgil’s grin remained for only a moment as he rose from the bed, hands folding behind his back while his expression and voice fell professionally neutral.

“Why, was it not the-“

“Roman!” a disembodied voice squealed, interrupting the sinful words sure to escape Virgil’s lips. The focal point of the universe shifted to the young girl jubilantly leaping into Roman’s lap before he was able to properly sit up. He managed to after a moment, sheets pooling in his lap, and he wrapped his arms around his younger sister’s waist. She clung to his neck, refusing to let go although he didn’t dare try to shake her off. Not ever, but especially not today.

“Happy birthday, Princess,” he mumbled into his younger sister’s ear, her laugh the most beautiful jingle he had the pleasure to hear.

She ignored Virgil, the servant silent out of respect. He was not to be seen or heard, to disturb the royal family in any way. Roman was an exception. Clearly.

And then after a moment, “Were you not supposed to wait in your chambers for us to retrieve you?”

Her cheeks flushed and she nuzzled against his neck, eyes closed and oblivious to the rouge bruises decorating his skin like rubies. She shrugged before saying, “I just wanted to see you now, that is all.”

“Hmmmm . . . I think you just want your present now.” His wording was deliberate, gaze meeting Virgil’s then. The other held his composure but his eyes darkened. Of course they did.

“Go back to your room, we must uphold our tradition. In an hour’s time, you will be the most worshiped woman in the kingdom.”

She pulled back, brows furrowed from not getting her way, but she still brushed her lips against his cheek. She scurried out, but not before she gave him a small curtsy - mockingly, most likely.

Roman stared at the window, leaning back against the head of his bed as Virgil materialized from the shadows, closing the door. It wasn’t until he heard the faint click of the lock did he bother looking his way.

“You play a dangerous game, Prince,” he said, Roman feeling the bed dip by his hip and a pair of lips brush his already sensitive neck. His breath hitched, own lips parting as his eyelids fluttered shut. “You better be a man of your word.”

-

Roman, to the surprise of no God, was late to the official start of his sister’s birthday. Upsetting tradition, as he told his younger sister hours before not to do. The young princess fumed until he revealed his present to her: a dark kitten clothed in only a red bow loosely tied around its neck.

“Her name is Lady,” he said as she wrapped her little arms around the cat, tears streaming down her cheeks from pure joy.

The others thought nothing of it, his tardiness. They assumed he had merely slept in and were far too concerned with preparations for the young princess’s birthday ball to even bother considering any other possibility. To consider that his uncharacteristic carelessness was due to another’s ability to make him lose track of time, to lose track of himself. That another’s hands, his lips, had claimed him. Fingernails and teeth dragged across gorgeous, gorgeous skin. Sinfully and beautifully.

No, they only saw his sister’s ball hours ahead and were focused on making it suitable for the only daughter of the most powerful king in the land. Which was hardly for her, but instead an excuse for the queen to find Roman a woman to marry.

He was against it all, especially using his sister’s name as an excuse for the courting, but a ball was a ball. And a masquerade ball . . .  it was definitely a way to find oneself, for an extended time, with one’s lover while another - paid handsomely for his silence, of course - took on his name and bore the weight of prince for a few hours. To ignore those falling to their knees to worship him in favor of getting on his knees for another.

The irony was not lost on him.

So while his mother spent the day in her chambers plotting, Roman did the same. And come sunset after the princess was put to sleep and the charade of the ball being about her ceased, their plans would begin to unravel. And both were determined to emerge from the night victorious.

-

The ball started as dull as Roman expected. He and the other members of his family were seated upon their respective thrones, offering forced smiles to those who approached and presented gifts to the princess. And the king, of course.

Even the queen was handed small tokens by ladies accompanied by their daughters. Roman placed them to all be about his age, their curves still reminiscent of their youth and begging eyes only proving his point.

One of the ladies even presented him with a gift, to his younger sister’s dismay. A rose, a dark red that rivaled the one settled across her cheeks as she handed it over to him.

He offered her the kindest smile he could muster, his mother watching it fall the moment after she curtsied and dismissed herself.

She wasn’t the first - and certainly not the last - to hand him a rose, Roman just slipping his presents to his older sister who would certainly make a crown for him before the night’s end.

Next to her, cloaked in a mask resembling the feathers of a peacock, was her betrothed. He made the day trip to their kingdom for the ball, his fingers entwined with hers and resting in her lap. They made a good pair and despite the arrangement, they genuinely cared for one another. Unlike what was sure in store for Roman and whichever poor girl was to marry him. To bear his children and reign by his side but to never be loved.

Not when he had little interests in women and even if he had, his heart was already in the hands of another. The rightful owner.

Speaking of his lover, Virgil was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t seen him since after breakfast, hadn’t touched him since before then. And while they both knew of the other’s responsibilities, Roman couldn’t help but crave for more time together. For Virgil to slip away from his chores and for Roman to feign a headache during a meeting with the kingdom’s lords so they could find one another. Even if Roman didn’t taste his skin, even if all they could manage was a small conversation.

_ Love doesn’t win wars, _ his mother’s voice echoed through his skull.  _ Allies do. _

And what she did not say,  _ you will not be so vain as to take a man as your lover than to join our kingdom with the forces of another, merge powerful bloodlines to assure the peace and strength of our kingdoms. _

But of course, she knew nothing of his relationship with Virgil and would assume that he would want to marry a peasant girl or a maid. Not a-

But no, Roman was at peace with his attraction - or at least at peace with the fact that he was who he was and loved who he loved and no one could never know. And he knew he was lucky, knew that men were being put to death for not being careful.

It would be different, one day. He would be king and he would let those men be killed no longer. But his reign would not start soon enough for him to marry Virgil.

And he was also at peace with that. To some extent.

When the clock struck the hour, the royal family rose. The musicians halted and all eyes turned to the crown and his wife and children. A faux smile spread across his lips as he said, “Let Princess Anneliese’s ball begin!”

Normally such declaration was not needed but the young princess had insisted. She practically skipped down the steps, disregarding all her lessons and etiquette in favor of quickly reaching her friends and dancing in the middle of the ballroom. The king cringed but held his tongue, settling back onto his throne wordlessly.

“May I, Marcella?” Roman’s sister’s betrothed asked her, having bowed politely and extending his hand. Her smile was devious as she accepted and dragged him to the floor, his expression matching hers once they were both turned away from the king. Leaving Roman and his mother alone together.

Her lips parted, most likely to get Roman to talk to a fine lady, but Roman was already slipping into the crowd in pursuits of another.

The bastard had made it a game because despite having helped Roman with his costume, he refused to let the other see his own after Roman claimed that he would be able to tell the other despite the mask, despite what he wore.  _ I would know it was you if I were blind, I would know it was you in death. _

So to challenge his notion, Virgil forced Roman to see if he really could figure out who he was without telling him the theme of his costume, limiting their time together substantially. But Roman was confident, or was until he was a few drinks in and had women pulling him every which way like children fighting over a favored toy.

His world was spinning, head throbbing and his smile was wavering, feet slipping out from beneath him and-

A hand was there on the small of his back to steady him, strong and firm. Familiar.

“Step back please, ladies,” he requested, deepening his voice to sound more assertive and were Roman not being saved, he would have teased Virgil for it.

Roman averted his eyes as he was guided away by the hand, refusing to look at the ladies as he was led to the outskirts of the crowd.

“Even bother looking for your secret lover?” the voice belonging to the hand asked, Virgil’s voice hushed but returning to its normal pitch.

The prince turned, his burgundy half-mask revealing the brilliant smile etched across his lips as his eyes met the blue ones of his partner. “And what if I was to say that I was and continue to still look?”

A small scoff was Virgil’s only reply, hand wandering from its place on Roman’s back down to his wrist and then to his lean fingers. Roman continued to walk down the vacant hall, hand steady as Virgil hooked the ends of their fingertips together.

Roman’s smile grew, cheeks matching those of the blushing girls that had been courting him only moments before. His eyes gleamed and when they turned a corner, it was hard to pull his hand away. Even for a moment to give his mask to a servant, to the man that would pretend to be him. Charm women, avoid his mother like the plague, and dine like a king. All while the true heir to the throne dined between the parted thighs of his lover.

And from the look in Virgil’s eyes when the faint click of his door echoed through his bedroom for the second time that day, he knew that he would be the one feasting.

-

Roman lay awake, fingers running through the soft locks of Virgil’s hair as the other slept on his chest with a hand firmly pressed against the bare skin of his chest.

They had exhausted one another, talking themselves out of returning to the ball in favor of  _ one more kiss, my darling, one more kiss _ . Which led to ten more, fifteen more. Fifty.

And then Virgil had collapsed by his side, breathing inconsistent as he made Roman promise to not let him fall asleep. But his eyelids had fluttered closed and he yawned so beautifully, curling up into Roman as if he had done so every night of his life and planned to do so for the rest. And it was impossible to stop him, not when it felt more right than sitting upon his uncomfortable throne with the gaze of his subordinates on him.

Virgil stirred, brows furrowing and Roman left a soothing kiss on the top of his head in an attempt to lull him.

It seemed to work, Virgil adjusting himself before going still once more. Roman released a strangled sound, squeezing his eyes tightly shut in a vain attempt to keep himself together.

“Ro,” Virgil said, voice revealing that he was much more awake than the other had thought.

Roman took a moment before replying, inhaling slowly and deeply. “Yeah?”

“How much longer do you think we have?”

Months, years if they were lucky. They could have centuries and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“As much time as the gods give us, I suppose.”

It was an answer neither were satisfied with but Virgil said nothing for a moment, just allowing his fingers to trace patterns along his lover’s abdomen. They were careless strokes but each touch sent sparks through him, skin tingling in its wake.

But after a moment, “The gods are cruel.”

Indeed they were, and the arm slung over Virgil’s waist pulled him tighter as Roman nodded in response. Because what else was there to say?

Virgil sighed, lifting himself up onto an elbow and looking down at his prince. Moonlight graced his skin, echos of darkness concealing his eyes but he was otherwise exposed and completely at Virgil’s display.

“We could run away, you know,” he mumbled, fingertips brushing his jaw as Roman turned his head to have a better view of his lover’s face.

“I am the only heir,” he replied quickly, shaking his head and dismissing the idea. But Virgil, oh no, Virgil was convinced now.

“Take off, settle in the lands across the sea . . . ”

“And who would wear the crown?” Roman asked, stunned that this was even a question. That this was something Virgil believed to be tangible.

“Why, is your mother not pregnant?”

Roman’s lips pursed, having forgotten that he had told him.

“And what if she has another daughter?”

“Anneliese would be a just queen.”

Roman sighed, plucking himself from Virgil and rolling away onto his shoulder. But his eyes remained opened, fixed on the adjacent wall.

Virgil’s hand brushed against his shoulders, rubbing the strong muscles as he rose onto his knees. He sat back on his heels, continuing to trace to crevices of his back.

“I just . . .” Roman began, voice cracking. He was speaking truly from the heart and Virgil remained silent, allowing for the prince to take his time in forming his words, words he thought would never surface.

“It isn’t fair.”

Silence. Roman knew he sounded like a child but he didn’t care. He wanted Virgil, he wanted Virgil more than anything and he hated his crown. He would want nothing more than to marry the man he loved and watch him rule beside him or better yet, take off and allow his rightful title of heir to be stripped and given to his potentially existing baby brother or his already present younger sister. But neither option was plausible.

The hand on Roman’s shoulder tightened, guiding Roman onto his back. He hadn’t meant for Virgil to see the tears streaming down his cheeks, for the moon to make them shine like shooting stars on his tanned cheeks.

Virgil wiped his eyes, gaze sympathetic and understanding as he leaned down to brush their lips together. He knew. Virgil would never understand the weight of being an heir, of having the fate of an entire kingdom resting on his shoulders, but he knew that it was tearing his lover apart. And he knew the pain of knowing that he would die one day without having lived a full life with his partner.

And it was all Roman could ask for as the kiss deepened, his eyes drying as Virgil moved closer.

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbled against his lips, eyes tightly closed and refusing to open, refusing for Virgil to see how shattered the hazel hues were.

“Don’t be,” Virgil replied, amusement laced with his words as he continued, “let the gods be when I destroy them one by one.”

A laugh erupted from Roman’s soul, a sound so genuine and pure that Virgil couldn’t help but kiss him once more, kiss him until Princess Anneliese’s birthday faded into the dawn of Hallow’s Eve and the dead begged to be recognized.

And he would continue kissing him for years, years after the birth of a daughter, marriage to a woman, and the death of a king. Until a crown was placed atop of his head and that very same night, the former prince vanished into thin air as if he were kidnapped by a god. Joined in hand by a servant, never to be seen again.

Only the wind whispered their stories, claiming that they settled in a stone house by the seaside. In a house visited by Queen Anneliese once a year on Hallow’s Eve. In a house in which they were finally happy.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!
> 
> so I’ve had this idea for like,,,three weeks now and I finally finished. halfway through, it took a bit of a different route than I thought it was but that’s the amazing thing about writing, the story sometimes writes itself.
> 
> also about our uploading schedule, it has shifted a bit. we will post fics (for this month) on tuesdays & saturdays and we will post headcanons on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays. we have kind of figured out what we’re doing so our schedule will be more consistent!
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed  
> \- ronnie


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